I was in Detroit again, Ann Arbor to be exact. At the end of a long day of sales calls my colleague Fred and I checked into the Candlewood Suites. It was my first time staying at this Holiday Inn property. A young man greeted us at the check-in counter ready to process our reservation. I couldn’t help noticing a prize wheel sitting on the counter to my right.
You know the type. You’ve seen them at carnivals. You put your money down and spin the wheel. Let’s say you placed your money on a stuffed animal, maybe a platypus. If the wheel stops on that prize you win. Of course at carnivals, the wheel has about 2,000 choices. Your odds of actually winning something are only slightly better than the likelihood you will be the next President of the United States.
At the Candlewood Suites in Ann Arbor the wheel only has ten choices, three once you boil it down. There are four chances to win a can of Coca~Cola, two chances to win $3.00 worth of snacks and two chances to win 1,000 Priority Club points. There are, as it turns out two other possibilities. I was so looking forward to trying my luck with the Candlewood Suites prize wheel. Who doesn’t like a little game of chance?
I quickly signed the registration sheet, got my room key, and then gave the wheel a spin. As it came to a stop that other possibility, one I didn’t really notice in my excitement, came into focus. It said, “Better Luck Next Time.” You might think I was chagrined beyond belief by my bad luck but I was actually quite happy with the result. Had I won the 1,000 point prize or even a can of Coke, I’m sure I wouldn’t have given the moment a second thought. Instead I was flabbergasted by the idea that someone in the Candlewood Suites organization, no doubt a marketing professional, thinks it’s a good idea to send some customers to their rooms feeling like losers.
I looked at the desk clerk who was obviously prepared to sympathize with me over my bad luck. I couldn’t help it. I was laughing. I said, “I’ve been on the road all day. I’m tired and I have never stayed at your hotel before. Do you really want to send me to my room cursing my bad luck? Are you trying to make me connect the Candlewood brand with feeling like a loser? Why don’t you go all the way? Instead of saying ‘Better Luck Next Time’ why not say ‘Drop Dead?’ Seriously, why not let me feel the full weight of your indifference?” He smiled back at me and shrugged. Marketing wasn’t his department.
Listen: I get it that the prize wheel is supposed to inject a little fun, even excitement in what is an otherwise mundane activity. But the hotel used it in a way that surely has unintended and certainly unwelcome side effects. I am sure that many if not most people would spin the wheel and laugh it off if they lost. What I can’t help wondering though is whether it’s worth the risk that some people might avoid the hotel next time they’re in town, simply because…“there is something about that place…I can’t put my finger on it, but I don’t like…” Instead of better luck next time I think the options should be a new Buick. I’m just saying.
I’ve experienced the prize wheel before by the way. Years ago not long after we were married, my wife and I were buying carpet. There was a sale going on. Big discounts were promised. Once you selected your carpet and padding you had to spin the wheel to see how big your discount would be. As I recall, discounts went from 3% to 12%. I spun and it landed on 9%, not bad. It wasn’t until later that it dawned on me that they were prepared to give us an additional 3% discount if the prize wheel landed on 12%. Why should I accept anything less? My colleague Fred who frequently stays at Holiday Inn property’s rightly insisted on the 1,000 point prize for that very reason. Why should he accept less? Alas, its years too late to make my case on the carpeting. Better luck next time I guess.
Copyright 2011 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Friday, July 1, 2011
Where Have You Gone Kit Carson?
Imagine if you will the early American pioneers traveling in wagon trains from Missouri all the way to California. Rugged men, women and children all, they battled weather, tricky terrain, unpredictable rivers and angry Native Americans to reach their new homes. It could be argued that these pioneers defined the American can-do spirit. These men and women had an insatiable thirst for adventure. Traveling for as long as six months to reach their promised land, they consistently demonstrated independence in thought and action. America is a great country because these brave souls wouldn’t accept the conventional wisdom that it wasn’t safe to make a 2,000 mile journey in a wagon. They believed in themselves and in the future of America.
Now imagine what would have happened if, when they reached the Rocky Mountains, they found a band of fellow Americans wearing uniforms with patches that said TSA on their shirts. Picture an agent of the Federal government requesting identification, demanding that the men remove their belts and boots. Imagine the women being subjected to a pat down through their petticoats. Can you hear the TSA agent telling them they could not take their water-filled canteens another step further because they weren’t purchased at the entrance to the mountain range? When the TSA agents insisted that the men leave their weapons behind, I’m guessing a riot would have ensued which the history books would no doubt refer to as the Massacre of South Pass, Wyoming.
I was standing in line before 6 a.m. at the Nashville International Airport last week trying to get to Detroit. There was an unusually large crowd that morning trying to get through security, nervously checking their watches and praying they would make their flights. That is when they weren’t distracted by emails and text messages or listening to Maroon 5 on their i-Pods. Like sheep we all did exactly as we were told. We handed over our boarding passes along with our picture IDs just to get into the line.
As we got closer to the gray buckets and conveyor belts we ran through our mental checklist: Wallet, jewelry, cell phone, coins, belts, tiny toiletries and oh yes, laptops. We know that all these items along with any jackets and shoes must be removed and placed in the buckets. We gently pushed them along, careful to smile at any TSA agents that might look in our direction. It makes no sense to look like an independent, non-compliant American citizen. No one wants to submit to the public pat down or electric wanding that suggests you’re either a potential threat to national security or a dummy who doesn’t even know how to fly to Detroit.
With plenty of time on my hands, I found myself scrutinizing the faces of my fellow travelers. I was looking for any signs of rebellion in the ranks. Maybe we’re too distracted to rebel. Perhaps a bit self satisfied that life is good enough so why make waves? It doesn’t take that long to get through the line anyway. Seriously, shouldn’t we carefully examine gray-haired old men and women, checking even their canes to be sure we can fly safely? Doesn’t it make sense to send innocent 5 year old red-blooded American children through an x-ray machine? I feel safer don’t you?
I go through this process nearly every week. Usually it doesn’t take very long but it is frustrating nevertheless. That morning I couldn’t help thinking about the American spirit and whether we have any fight left in us. What will it take for us to say, enough!
“Sir, before I let you board the plane you will have to recite the Pledge of Allegiance and sing God Bless America into this microphone or you can’t fly today.”
“Excuse me miss, we have your identification and your ticket is valid but our clerk here is going to perform a full cavity search live on television which will be seen by anyone sitting in the food court.”
I understand the need for airport security. No one wants a repeat of 9/11. But we have become much too willing to accept patently absurd notions about safety because it’s easier than fighting the craziness. Passenger profiling need not be based solely on ethnic or racial stereotypes. In fact experts say it would be a mistake. Regardless, our current security system makes air travel a nuisance. If only we had the ingenuity of our forefathers. Surely we could find a better way. Most of us know America can do better. Our ancestors would have done something about it.
Copyright Len Serafino 2011. All rights reserved.
Now imagine what would have happened if, when they reached the Rocky Mountains, they found a band of fellow Americans wearing uniforms with patches that said TSA on their shirts. Picture an agent of the Federal government requesting identification, demanding that the men remove their belts and boots. Imagine the women being subjected to a pat down through their petticoats. Can you hear the TSA agent telling them they could not take their water-filled canteens another step further because they weren’t purchased at the entrance to the mountain range? When the TSA agents insisted that the men leave their weapons behind, I’m guessing a riot would have ensued which the history books would no doubt refer to as the Massacre of South Pass, Wyoming.
I was standing in line before 6 a.m. at the Nashville International Airport last week trying to get to Detroit. There was an unusually large crowd that morning trying to get through security, nervously checking their watches and praying they would make their flights. That is when they weren’t distracted by emails and text messages or listening to Maroon 5 on their i-Pods. Like sheep we all did exactly as we were told. We handed over our boarding passes along with our picture IDs just to get into the line.
As we got closer to the gray buckets and conveyor belts we ran through our mental checklist: Wallet, jewelry, cell phone, coins, belts, tiny toiletries and oh yes, laptops. We know that all these items along with any jackets and shoes must be removed and placed in the buckets. We gently pushed them along, careful to smile at any TSA agents that might look in our direction. It makes no sense to look like an independent, non-compliant American citizen. No one wants to submit to the public pat down or electric wanding that suggests you’re either a potential threat to national security or a dummy who doesn’t even know how to fly to Detroit.
With plenty of time on my hands, I found myself scrutinizing the faces of my fellow travelers. I was looking for any signs of rebellion in the ranks. Maybe we’re too distracted to rebel. Perhaps a bit self satisfied that life is good enough so why make waves? It doesn’t take that long to get through the line anyway. Seriously, shouldn’t we carefully examine gray-haired old men and women, checking even their canes to be sure we can fly safely? Doesn’t it make sense to send innocent 5 year old red-blooded American children through an x-ray machine? I feel safer don’t you?
I go through this process nearly every week. Usually it doesn’t take very long but it is frustrating nevertheless. That morning I couldn’t help thinking about the American spirit and whether we have any fight left in us. What will it take for us to say, enough!
“Sir, before I let you board the plane you will have to recite the Pledge of Allegiance and sing God Bless America into this microphone or you can’t fly today.”
“Excuse me miss, we have your identification and your ticket is valid but our clerk here is going to perform a full cavity search live on television which will be seen by anyone sitting in the food court.”
I understand the need for airport security. No one wants a repeat of 9/11. But we have become much too willing to accept patently absurd notions about safety because it’s easier than fighting the craziness. Passenger profiling need not be based solely on ethnic or racial stereotypes. In fact experts say it would be a mistake. Regardless, our current security system makes air travel a nuisance. If only we had the ingenuity of our forefathers. Surely we could find a better way. Most of us know America can do better. Our ancestors would have done something about it.
Copyright Len Serafino 2011. All rights reserved.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Joy Redux
In May of last year, just nine short months ago, I posted a column about a BMW ad claiming they made joy instead of cars. I had some fun with the German automaker for positing such a ridiculous notion. At least Pontiac built excitement -until its heart stopped beating. BMW didn’t claim to build anything. Instead they decided to redefine the word joy. Remember?
Joy breaks the mold
Joy is timeless
Joy is youthful
Joy can be counted
Joy is maternal
Joy is future proof
BMW has since parted company with the advertising agency that created that awful campaign. No joy in Mudville and not much in Munich. But then there’s this: I bought a BMW X3 today. Now I’m sure some BMW marketing executive will smile and say, “The joy ad was very effective. You bought one of our cars Len.” Like a baby, my BMW purchase was born nine months after they impregnated my brain with the subliminal message: Put some joy in your life Serafino. Buy a Beamer. Who knows? Anything’s possible right? David, the client advisor did seem to be waiting for me when I drove up and parked outside the showroom floor. He seemed very confident that he had a live one. I wonder how he knew.
People who know me well are aware that I can be extremely impulsive when it comes to buying cars. In the most disgraceful example of such behavior, I accompanied a co-worker to a car dealership to help out and wound up being the buyer myself. Obviously no sleight of hand, including claims of unbridled joy, is needed to get my juices flowing. I am ready to buy with little provocation. My wife won’t even allow me to go to a car wash alone, fearful that I might select “new car smell” a fragrance that can send me to the nearest car dealer in a heartbeat. I'e had the vehicle I just traded for more than 6 years which in my 40+ years of car buying is a record. That I actually own the car is another minor miracle. Is there a fragrance for upside down financing?
I actually enjoy the give and take integral to buying a car. It helps when the sales person is pushy. There is nothing I like better than playing mental tennis with a wild eyed sales guy who runs back and forth between his desk and his manager’s office as we wrangle over price. You might say it gives me joy.
Sadly, that didn’t happen this time. BMW’s David, the guy who sold me the X3, was a gentleman. He was knowledgeable, courteous and above all, he treated me fairly. He took all the fun out of the experience for me. On the other hand if exchanging insults over glass cubicle walls isn’t your idea of fun, well, you might give David a try. I think my blood pressure actually dropped during the transaction. Even my wife sat there with me today, something she swore she would never do again after I held the receptionist and the service manager hostage for three hours the last time I bought a car. I still maintain BMW overshot with the joy thing, but based on my experience with their Nashville dealership, they could run an ad that says we take the angst out of buying a car, at least for normal people.
By the way, if you happened to see the BMW ad and hated it, please let me know. I am always seeking validation. Better still, if you read my post on the topic and bought one of their cars anyway, call me. Maybe I could claim a commission. That would really give me joy.
Copyright 2011 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Joy breaks the mold
Joy is timeless
Joy is youthful
Joy can be counted
Joy is maternal
Joy is future proof
BMW has since parted company with the advertising agency that created that awful campaign. No joy in Mudville and not much in Munich. But then there’s this: I bought a BMW X3 today. Now I’m sure some BMW marketing executive will smile and say, “The joy ad was very effective. You bought one of our cars Len.” Like a baby, my BMW purchase was born nine months after they impregnated my brain with the subliminal message: Put some joy in your life Serafino. Buy a Beamer. Who knows? Anything’s possible right? David, the client advisor did seem to be waiting for me when I drove up and parked outside the showroom floor. He seemed very confident that he had a live one. I wonder how he knew.
People who know me well are aware that I can be extremely impulsive when it comes to buying cars. In the most disgraceful example of such behavior, I accompanied a co-worker to a car dealership to help out and wound up being the buyer myself. Obviously no sleight of hand, including claims of unbridled joy, is needed to get my juices flowing. I am ready to buy with little provocation. My wife won’t even allow me to go to a car wash alone, fearful that I might select “new car smell” a fragrance that can send me to the nearest car dealer in a heartbeat. I'e had the vehicle I just traded for more than 6 years which in my 40+ years of car buying is a record. That I actually own the car is another minor miracle. Is there a fragrance for upside down financing?
I actually enjoy the give and take integral to buying a car. It helps when the sales person is pushy. There is nothing I like better than playing mental tennis with a wild eyed sales guy who runs back and forth between his desk and his manager’s office as we wrangle over price. You might say it gives me joy.
Sadly, that didn’t happen this time. BMW’s David, the guy who sold me the X3, was a gentleman. He was knowledgeable, courteous and above all, he treated me fairly. He took all the fun out of the experience for me. On the other hand if exchanging insults over glass cubicle walls isn’t your idea of fun, well, you might give David a try. I think my blood pressure actually dropped during the transaction. Even my wife sat there with me today, something she swore she would never do again after I held the receptionist and the service manager hostage for three hours the last time I bought a car. I still maintain BMW overshot with the joy thing, but based on my experience with their Nashville dealership, they could run an ad that says we take the angst out of buying a car, at least for normal people.
By the way, if you happened to see the BMW ad and hated it, please let me know. I am always seeking validation. Better still, if you read my post on the topic and bought one of their cars anyway, call me. Maybe I could claim a commission. That would really give me joy.
Copyright 2011 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Living the Dream
I’m listening to the CORE FM, a Rutgers University radio station as I write this from Franklin Tennessee. Yes, the Web has opened a world to us that was completely unknown to our parents, not to mention our grandparents. The DJ I’m listening to is Mike Wollman, a 61 year old friend of mine from our days at Rutgers in Newark. And that is perhaps the larger miracle of the age in which we live.
Mike has had a very successful career as a teacher in secondary schools. While we were in college he held down a DJ slot on the campus radio station. Now here he is enjoying a passion of his, still in fine voice and as much on top of today’s music as he was in the 1960s.
We live in an age when dreams need not be lost because of time wasted, obligations undertaken or narrowly missed opportunities. Long held dreams are not trampled by the fates the way they were in generations past. Thanks to the Web, a plethora of educational opportunities and demand publishing to name a few, there are more avenues for self expression than ever before in history. Mike told me he did in fact dream of being on the radio again for almost 30 years. When the opportunity presented itself he studied, took some tests and made it happen. And in the nicest of touches, his daughter Becca, who was active at the station, gave him an assist.
Our dreams can stay alive for years, even if fed only by the tiniest morsel of hope. The beauty of our world is this: Dreams can come to fruition at any time. One reason is there is less discrimination now. When women and minorities secured the right to chase their dreams, they helped to break down lots of barriers and conventional wisdom including the silly idea that one should act his age.
Certainly a mature individual is capable of discerning the difference between what is truly a young person’s activity and what is open to anyone willing to try. So it is that former President Bush jumped from an airplane to celebrate his 75th, 80th and 85th birthdays. Conventional wisdom surely would suggest that the former President act his age. Fortunately he didn’t and anyone still chasing a dream should take heart.
At a recent Toastmasters meeting the Toastmaster of the day chose fearlessness as the theme of the day which led to some discussion about why people fear chasing their dreams. Some said it’s the fear of ridicule. Others suggested a fear of failure. It’s hard to disagree with those explanations but I suspect there is another fundamental reason why people don’t actually chase their dreams. Most of us have secret dreams that we hold dear for many years. We tell ourselves that one day we will do the thing we really want to do. Maybe it’s something grand like climbing Mt Everest or perhaps a bit more modest like learning to speak French. We would do these things if only we had the time.
So what derails us from chasing our dreams as we crawl, walk and sometimes run through life? I think the underlying fear is that if we fail, the question then is what will happen to our dreams? What in the world will we replace them with if we fail? Lord knows even an unrealized dream can serve a critical purpose in our lives. A dream can be mental comfort food, something we pull out when our lives are completely at odds with the world.
“No I didn’t get that promotion but some day I’m going to get my MBA and I’ll be a huge success.”
“Another broken relationship and it hurts but one day I’ll write a best seller and then…”
Thoughts like that can get us through some difficult moments but it seems like a high price to pay for succor. I think Mike figured out that the beauty of chasing his dream was in the doing. He didn’t become a celebrity DJ talking to millions from a Manhattan studio. But that isn’t how he defined success. He realized that accepting the challenge and doing what he loved was true success. Think about times when you have been really successful. What part of the experience gives you the most satisfaction, the recognition or the actual work you completed?
Life will always have its disappointments. Don’t let one of yours be that you never reached for your secret stars. Remember living the dream is in the doing.
Copyright 2011 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Mike has had a very successful career as a teacher in secondary schools. While we were in college he held down a DJ slot on the campus radio station. Now here he is enjoying a passion of his, still in fine voice and as much on top of today’s music as he was in the 1960s.
We live in an age when dreams need not be lost because of time wasted, obligations undertaken or narrowly missed opportunities. Long held dreams are not trampled by the fates the way they were in generations past. Thanks to the Web, a plethora of educational opportunities and demand publishing to name a few, there are more avenues for self expression than ever before in history. Mike told me he did in fact dream of being on the radio again for almost 30 years. When the opportunity presented itself he studied, took some tests and made it happen. And in the nicest of touches, his daughter Becca, who was active at the station, gave him an assist.
Our dreams can stay alive for years, even if fed only by the tiniest morsel of hope. The beauty of our world is this: Dreams can come to fruition at any time. One reason is there is less discrimination now. When women and minorities secured the right to chase their dreams, they helped to break down lots of barriers and conventional wisdom including the silly idea that one should act his age.
Certainly a mature individual is capable of discerning the difference between what is truly a young person’s activity and what is open to anyone willing to try. So it is that former President Bush jumped from an airplane to celebrate his 75th, 80th and 85th birthdays. Conventional wisdom surely would suggest that the former President act his age. Fortunately he didn’t and anyone still chasing a dream should take heart.
At a recent Toastmasters meeting the Toastmaster of the day chose fearlessness as the theme of the day which led to some discussion about why people fear chasing their dreams. Some said it’s the fear of ridicule. Others suggested a fear of failure. It’s hard to disagree with those explanations but I suspect there is another fundamental reason why people don’t actually chase their dreams. Most of us have secret dreams that we hold dear for many years. We tell ourselves that one day we will do the thing we really want to do. Maybe it’s something grand like climbing Mt Everest or perhaps a bit more modest like learning to speak French. We would do these things if only we had the time.
So what derails us from chasing our dreams as we crawl, walk and sometimes run through life? I think the underlying fear is that if we fail, the question then is what will happen to our dreams? What in the world will we replace them with if we fail? Lord knows even an unrealized dream can serve a critical purpose in our lives. A dream can be mental comfort food, something we pull out when our lives are completely at odds with the world.
“No I didn’t get that promotion but some day I’m going to get my MBA and I’ll be a huge success.”
“Another broken relationship and it hurts but one day I’ll write a best seller and then…”
Thoughts like that can get us through some difficult moments but it seems like a high price to pay for succor. I think Mike figured out that the beauty of chasing his dream was in the doing. He didn’t become a celebrity DJ talking to millions from a Manhattan studio. But that isn’t how he defined success. He realized that accepting the challenge and doing what he loved was true success. Think about times when you have been really successful. What part of the experience gives you the most satisfaction, the recognition or the actual work you completed?
Life will always have its disappointments. Don’t let one of yours be that you never reached for your secret stars. Remember living the dream is in the doing.
Copyright 2011 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
‘57 Chevys yes…Boy George…not so much
My friend Chuck sent me an email filled with nostalgic pictures from the 1950s. Most of us get these if we’re beyond a certain age. No matter how many I get, I still enjoy receiving them. But sometimes I wonder if nostalgic emails are circulating among the truly geriatric set, extolling the virtues of the 1940s. Certainly there are eighty-somethings out there who are techno-savvy. Do they secretly share photos of Glenn Miller, Frank Sinatra and Kate Smith? Do they delight in looking at pictures of War bonds, Rosie the riveter and Kilroy? Do they recall zoot suits with fondness too?
World War II was of course the central story of the 1940s. I suppose it’s impossible for people of that generation to look back on those years in the joyful way baby boomers romanticize the 1950s. At least 300,000 Americans died as a result of the war. Millions of people were touched by sadness for having lived through it. Yet, when the war was over, the people who fought the battles made the armaments or kept the home fires burning, made the 1950s the decade we baby boomers cherish.
Most of the 1950s cultural artifacts I’m reminded of in these “remember when” photo displays are the things of childhood; like candy cigarettes, pea shooters, hula hoops, Howdy Doody and the Lone Ranger. And there are other triggers like 1957 Chevys, black and white TVs that took three minutes to warm up and S&H Green Stamps. These collages seem to suggest that we all lived in harmony, safe and well fed. We all went to schools where we learned what we needed to know and almost never ate the paste. On Sunday we all went to church. After church we had roasted chicken lots of vegetables and Mom’s home made apple pie for dessert.
The point of these messages is that life was way better back then. Life made sense. We lived in simpler times. Of course life was simple. We were kids. What did most of us know about discrimination, A-bombs or Commies? I have never received an email from someone from my parents’ generation extolling the virtues of the ‘50s.
I think people playing the role of adults at the time, probably remember the 1950s as an unsteady era. A time when having just defeated the Nazis, we were now involved in a new kind of war, a cold one with our former allies in Russia. A Senator from Wisconsin was conducting witch hunts that could actually be watched on a box in the living room. And well into the 1950s, our parents feared we might get polio. Millions of Americans still worked in factories at jobs that may have paid reasonably well but under conditions that in no way can be compared to the typical office environment today. Ed Norton, the sewer worker had little in common with The Office’s Dwight.
Generations that came before us were happy to see their children enjoy such good times. They could live vicariously through us. And they weren’t the least bit nostalgic for the 1930s either, by the way, when they were actually kids. Would anyone suggest that pictures of men selling apples on the street or people living in tents would call to mind better days?
Adults tend not to be nostalgic over things they did or witnessed after they grow up. If we did wouldn’t Chuck (and 50,000 other friends) be sending me pictures of Boy George, Hootie and the Blowfish, a picture of a PC with AOL on the screen and a reminder of how it took soooo long to get on-line with dial up? You can be sure there would be a picture of George Costanza in the mix too. Well, maybe not George. Thanks to cable TV I can still visit with him every night of the week.
Copyright 2011, Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
World War II was of course the central story of the 1940s. I suppose it’s impossible for people of that generation to look back on those years in the joyful way baby boomers romanticize the 1950s. At least 300,000 Americans died as a result of the war. Millions of people were touched by sadness for having lived through it. Yet, when the war was over, the people who fought the battles made the armaments or kept the home fires burning, made the 1950s the decade we baby boomers cherish.
Most of the 1950s cultural artifacts I’m reminded of in these “remember when” photo displays are the things of childhood; like candy cigarettes, pea shooters, hula hoops, Howdy Doody and the Lone Ranger. And there are other triggers like 1957 Chevys, black and white TVs that took three minutes to warm up and S&H Green Stamps. These collages seem to suggest that we all lived in harmony, safe and well fed. We all went to schools where we learned what we needed to know and almost never ate the paste. On Sunday we all went to church. After church we had roasted chicken lots of vegetables and Mom’s home made apple pie for dessert.
The point of these messages is that life was way better back then. Life made sense. We lived in simpler times. Of course life was simple. We were kids. What did most of us know about discrimination, A-bombs or Commies? I have never received an email from someone from my parents’ generation extolling the virtues of the ‘50s.
I think people playing the role of adults at the time, probably remember the 1950s as an unsteady era. A time when having just defeated the Nazis, we were now involved in a new kind of war, a cold one with our former allies in Russia. A Senator from Wisconsin was conducting witch hunts that could actually be watched on a box in the living room. And well into the 1950s, our parents feared we might get polio. Millions of Americans still worked in factories at jobs that may have paid reasonably well but under conditions that in no way can be compared to the typical office environment today. Ed Norton, the sewer worker had little in common with The Office’s Dwight.
Generations that came before us were happy to see their children enjoy such good times. They could live vicariously through us. And they weren’t the least bit nostalgic for the 1930s either, by the way, when they were actually kids. Would anyone suggest that pictures of men selling apples on the street or people living in tents would call to mind better days?
Adults tend not to be nostalgic over things they did or witnessed after they grow up. If we did wouldn’t Chuck (and 50,000 other friends) be sending me pictures of Boy George, Hootie and the Blowfish, a picture of a PC with AOL on the screen and a reminder of how it took soooo long to get on-line with dial up? You can be sure there would be a picture of George Costanza in the mix too. Well, maybe not George. Thanks to cable TV I can still visit with him every night of the week.
Copyright 2011, Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Today's paper in the hands of a 1960 reader
I picked up a copy of the Tennessean this morning, Nashville’s daily newspaper. As I perused the news, I got to thinking (never a good thing) about what would happen if somehow a person living in 1960 got his or her hands on the December 31, 2010 edition of the paper. The front page wouldn’t be particularly informative. The headline says “Jobless claims decline sharply.” There was a recession in 1960 so the thought that 50 years later things were about the same might actually be comforting. That feeling that things are the same wouldn’t last long I’m afraid. Before he even put coal in the furnace, the reader would see an editorial entitled “Gay adoptions expand opportunities for joys of parenthood.” I think it’s highly likely the reader would interpret the word gay as merry and expect a nice Holiday related story. After reading it however, and discovering that a man named Elton John and his civil partner David Furnish just became parents to a 7 pound, 15 ounce boy, the reader would be perplexed to put it mildly.
Assuming the shock of that story didn’t cause cardiac arrest, it’s quite possible that the real estate section would do the trick. After all, the average price of a new home in 1960 was $12,675. A look at property transfers in December of this year would probably make the poor reader wonder if America was going through a period of hyper-inflation akin to Germany after World War one. In 1960 gas was $.25 a gallon, a loaf of bread $.20, a postage stamp $.04. Never mind that homes in this area cost well into the six figure range. A reader in 1960 would see the sale of an empty lot for $98,500.
No doubt the reader would turn to the sports pages for solace. Another surprise in store, I’m afraid. What happens in professional sports these days frequently offers a prime example of the loss of civility in our culture over the last 50 years. The Tennessee Titans and the Indianapolis Colts, (Didn’t they used to play in Baltimore?) are playing a game that could decide whether the Colts advance to the NFL playoffs. Titans guard, Jake Scott had this to say about the game. “…we can screw up somebody else’s dreams. It is something to look forward to, trying to wreck somebody else’s year.” We take quotes like this for granted these days in sports, politics and business. It wasn’t like that in 1960 and while many things about our world today are decidedly better than they were then, the loss of civility isn’t one of them.
A switch to the life and entertainment section might also send 1960’s reader reeling. A popular movie right now is Little Fockers. Surely the title alone would give them pause about the future. Maybe they would feel better seeing that Dear Abby was still writing her column. And, readers would be happy to know that future generations still celebrate the coming of the New Year in pretty much the same way as in 1960. Here in Nashville there are lots of choices for party goers like the Music City Ball or Roaring 2011 –A Swingin’ New Year’s Eve celebration at the 5 Spot. And, Little Jimmy Dickens is appearing at the Grand Ole Opry tonight. Most likely he appeared there on New Year’s Eve 1960 too, bless his heart.
The business section would be an eye opener too. There is a story in today’s paper reporting that 20 million cars were recalled this year in the USA. Were there even that many cars on the road in 1960? And what pray tell, is a recall the reader would ask. And thank God Google didn’t exist back then because the reader would have been furious to learn that Japan, a country that surrendered just 15 years ago, was selling us millions of cars.
I’m sure readers back then would be envious about some things. The idea of owning a car with a sun roof, air conditioning, tilt steering wheel and something called cruise control would definitely be appealing.
Copyright 2010 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Assuming the shock of that story didn’t cause cardiac arrest, it’s quite possible that the real estate section would do the trick. After all, the average price of a new home in 1960 was $12,675. A look at property transfers in December of this year would probably make the poor reader wonder if America was going through a period of hyper-inflation akin to Germany after World War one. In 1960 gas was $.25 a gallon, a loaf of bread $.20, a postage stamp $.04. Never mind that homes in this area cost well into the six figure range. A reader in 1960 would see the sale of an empty lot for $98,500.
No doubt the reader would turn to the sports pages for solace. Another surprise in store, I’m afraid. What happens in professional sports these days frequently offers a prime example of the loss of civility in our culture over the last 50 years. The Tennessee Titans and the Indianapolis Colts, (Didn’t they used to play in Baltimore?) are playing a game that could decide whether the Colts advance to the NFL playoffs. Titans guard, Jake Scott had this to say about the game. “…we can screw up somebody else’s dreams. It is something to look forward to, trying to wreck somebody else’s year.” We take quotes like this for granted these days in sports, politics and business. It wasn’t like that in 1960 and while many things about our world today are decidedly better than they were then, the loss of civility isn’t one of them.
A switch to the life and entertainment section might also send 1960’s reader reeling. A popular movie right now is Little Fockers. Surely the title alone would give them pause about the future. Maybe they would feel better seeing that Dear Abby was still writing her column. And, readers would be happy to know that future generations still celebrate the coming of the New Year in pretty much the same way as in 1960. Here in Nashville there are lots of choices for party goers like the Music City Ball or Roaring 2011 –A Swingin’ New Year’s Eve celebration at the 5 Spot. And, Little Jimmy Dickens is appearing at the Grand Ole Opry tonight. Most likely he appeared there on New Year’s Eve 1960 too, bless his heart.
The business section would be an eye opener too. There is a story in today’s paper reporting that 20 million cars were recalled this year in the USA. Were there even that many cars on the road in 1960? And what pray tell, is a recall the reader would ask. And thank God Google didn’t exist back then because the reader would have been furious to learn that Japan, a country that surrendered just 15 years ago, was selling us millions of cars.
I’m sure readers back then would be envious about some things. The idea of owning a car with a sun roof, air conditioning, tilt steering wheel and something called cruise control would definitely be appealing.
Copyright 2010 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Going to See Santa
Most of us had the experience of going to see Santa when we were kids. It’s a long standing tradition that is as much a part of the Holiday as hanging your stocking on Christmas Eve. I was in the local mall the other night where Santa often resides these days. Standing on the mall’s second level, I had a birds eye view of the Santa Claus spectacle. There was a long line of anxious parents and small children, many of them too young to be anxious themselves, other than the fear some may have had of this big guy with a beard in a red suit. I must say this mall’s Santa Claus looked very much like the real thing, right out of a Coke ad you might say.
A little girl, perhaps three years old, dressed in a Christmassy red and green dress, was giving her mother a very hard time about sitting with Santa so she could have her picture taken. The little girl was adorable but she was definitely not in an adoring mood. She wanted no part of the guy who is supposed to come across with all the goodies on the morning of December 25th. The child’s mother was imploring her to sit with Santa. The woman seemed, well, desperate to capture the moment on film…or I suppose should say, digitally. She sat her daughter down on Santa’s lap, then next to him and finally in front of him to no avail. As soon as the mother stepped away so the picture could be taken, the child got up and ran to her.
The elves got into the act, doing their best to bribe the kid with stuffed reindeer and then candy. No dice. Then the mother decided to let her little girl watch other children make nice with Santa. Three kids did just that but the star of my little show still demurred. I have to say I was impressed with the behavior of the other parents standing patiently on line with their restless kids. No one seemed the least bit perturbed by this child’s refusal to sit with St. Nick and no one gave the mother the evil eye for her persistence. In the end, they got the photo but Mom is in the picture too. Perhaps one day it will make for a funny story the little girl can tell her fiancé. That’s if she can find the photo 25 years from now.
My take is simple. A picture with Santa is not worth the hassle I witnessed the other night. I say this because I have never been in an adult’s home that featured a picture of the resident sitting on Santa’s lap. Now I’ll bet you have several precious photos that you’ve had retouched, blown-up and framed because they have special meaning for you. I’ll also wager that you don’t have one of you with some big, fat, oddly dressed stranger in red. Think back to your own picture with Santa. Remember the look on your face? Is that fear in your tear stained eyes or was it a side effect of the million watt flash bulb that just went off in your face?
What happens to these pictures anyway? You take them home and show them to grandparents who ooh and ahh over them, secretly wondering whether you can even trust the people who play Santa anymore. You display them on a countertop or bookshelf during the Holidays and then…you put them in a box with other photos. Listen, a few nights before my sojourn to the mall, I was wading through a huge box of old photos. Guess what I found? Right, I found several pictures of my son and daughter having the all important powwow with Mr. C. I even found one of me.
Considering how busy parents with young children are during the Holidays, I can’t imagine what possesses them to stand on a long line surrounded by crying kids. Some parents do find ways to avoid it. Recently a friend told me that he and his wife decided not to tell their children stories about Santa Claus. They felt it would be lying to them and they wanted to build trust right from the beginning. If you ask me they probably just didn’t want to wait around for the photos. The funny thing is their kids, all adults now, complain that their parents robbed them of the Santa experience. Go figure. I wonder if they were in line the other night with their little ones.
Copyright 2010 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
A little girl, perhaps three years old, dressed in a Christmassy red and green dress, was giving her mother a very hard time about sitting with Santa so she could have her picture taken. The little girl was adorable but she was definitely not in an adoring mood. She wanted no part of the guy who is supposed to come across with all the goodies on the morning of December 25th. The child’s mother was imploring her to sit with Santa. The woman seemed, well, desperate to capture the moment on film…or I suppose should say, digitally. She sat her daughter down on Santa’s lap, then next to him and finally in front of him to no avail. As soon as the mother stepped away so the picture could be taken, the child got up and ran to her.
The elves got into the act, doing their best to bribe the kid with stuffed reindeer and then candy. No dice. Then the mother decided to let her little girl watch other children make nice with Santa. Three kids did just that but the star of my little show still demurred. I have to say I was impressed with the behavior of the other parents standing patiently on line with their restless kids. No one seemed the least bit perturbed by this child’s refusal to sit with St. Nick and no one gave the mother the evil eye for her persistence. In the end, they got the photo but Mom is in the picture too. Perhaps one day it will make for a funny story the little girl can tell her fiancé. That’s if she can find the photo 25 years from now.
My take is simple. A picture with Santa is not worth the hassle I witnessed the other night. I say this because I have never been in an adult’s home that featured a picture of the resident sitting on Santa’s lap. Now I’ll bet you have several precious photos that you’ve had retouched, blown-up and framed because they have special meaning for you. I’ll also wager that you don’t have one of you with some big, fat, oddly dressed stranger in red. Think back to your own picture with Santa. Remember the look on your face? Is that fear in your tear stained eyes or was it a side effect of the million watt flash bulb that just went off in your face?
What happens to these pictures anyway? You take them home and show them to grandparents who ooh and ahh over them, secretly wondering whether you can even trust the people who play Santa anymore. You display them on a countertop or bookshelf during the Holidays and then…you put them in a box with other photos. Listen, a few nights before my sojourn to the mall, I was wading through a huge box of old photos. Guess what I found? Right, I found several pictures of my son and daughter having the all important powwow with Mr. C. I even found one of me.
Considering how busy parents with young children are during the Holidays, I can’t imagine what possesses them to stand on a long line surrounded by crying kids. Some parents do find ways to avoid it. Recently a friend told me that he and his wife decided not to tell their children stories about Santa Claus. They felt it would be lying to them and they wanted to build trust right from the beginning. If you ask me they probably just didn’t want to wait around for the photos. The funny thing is their kids, all adults now, complain that their parents robbed them of the Santa experience. Go figure. I wonder if they were in line the other night with their little ones.
Copyright 2010 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.
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