Manager's Trot

I’m not sure how it started. You’ve seen it many times. A baseball manager calls timeout, ascends the steps in the dugout and then makes his way to the pitcher’s mound or home plate or somewhere. Calling it a run is the better part of generous. A run it isn’t. But, in fairness, it isn’t a walk either. The arms are bent and move in a cow-milking manner with vigor and the shoulders are engaged in a Larry King sort of way. There is a slight bounce. But there isn’t any speed. Usually a sunflower seed falls out of the guy’s mouth. And I think one foot is on the ground at all times. I guess the beauty is the manager really isn’t hustling, but he looks like he is. He gives the appearance that he has a sense of purpose and, after all, baseball is a sport. It stands to reason that running (or fake running) would be the main mode of transportation among players and coaches.

I find myself employing the manager’s trot from time to time. I usually break it out in a crosswalk. A motorist has given me the “hurry up, Jack” wave and out of courtesy I pick up the pace – sort of. I would feel awkward continuing to walk at my leisurely clip, but I don’t feel like sprinting. And if I ran I would probably pull a hammy. So I do want any rational person would, I pretend like I’m running. I’m basically saying, “Hey, thanks for not hitting me with your car. And as a thank you, I will pass by your vehicle 1 second faster than I normally would. This, my friend, is the least I can do. Have a good day.”

Thanks?

Heather and I ate dinner at an authentic Mexican restaurant north of Pittsburgh the other night. We hadn’t been there is a while and once we started eating we wondered why. Excellent food. As our time there was about to end, a person of importance approached us. He appeared to be an owner or manger or maybe someone who wanted to be. Not sure. Anyway, he came to our table, looked deep into my eyes and asked if everything was okay. I assured him it was with a knowing nod and the following statement: yes. He then stepped toward me, as if to leave, and gently placed his left hand on the left side of my chest, held it for a beat and withdrew it. It wasn’t actually a slap. And it wouldn’t be fair to call it a rub. It was just… odd. My eyes then met Heather’s and we smiled and she said, “Friendly place.” Indeed.

Height Fluctuation

Height consistency is not something I strive for in life, but it tends to happen. I’m not that tall (5’8”) but I am comfortable with my view of the world. And everyday my view is pretty much the same. I have one pair of shoes that nudges me up a little and my flip flops are pretty flat, but it’s mostly the same height day after day.

Women have a different experience, I believe. Depending on the day, or the heel, women can give you a whole different look. I am taller than many of the women in our office…some days. Other days…not so much. I have a good three inches on my wife, except at church once in awhile. Sometimes, one of my co-worker’s can look noticeably shorter. Other days, noticeably taller. I don’t comment on it either way. For over a year, I thought one female colleague was taller than I was. Then one Friday she wore those ballerina-slipper shoes. Turns out it was the shoes.

Going Left

I often think about getting back to playing some serious tennis. I played competitively in high school and now hit here and there, but watching Rodger win his 15th at Wimbledon a few weeks back gave me some inspiration. I think the nearly 20-year layoff will have taken something off of my game, but I believe I would be mentally tougher, if not wiser.

Then I think that it would be interesting to start playing lefty, as my dominate hand (and arm) is right. The logic is that I would have the knowledge of the game, how to strike the ball and most importantly what my right-handed flaws are providing a platform to create a better version of me. A lefty version. This time I reason, I would be unencumbered by old, bad habits and the inertia of doing it the way I always have. I’m sure it would be comical to start. Muscle memory has that affect on us. But, with courage and tenacity I think I could get pretty good and someday revel in a slice serve to the ad court against a righty opponent.

I don’t know if I will actually do this, although the thought intrigues me quite a bit. In actuality I am doing this now as this is what is happening in our business of communications. We are playing with the opposite hand. We are not starting over. No, connecting with consumers is still the game and much of the knowledge that we have still fits. But now, we have the opportunity to create a better version of what we do. We are learning and need to continue to learn new and better ways to create conversations with consumers, create meaningful dialogue and create a differentiated place in their hearts for our clients. Yes, it takes tenacity and courage but the payoff will be well worth it.

Bag It

According to The NPD Group, a leading market research company, weekday lunches carried from home reached a high point in 2007, with 8.5 million brown bag lunches taken to work. The assumption here is that number has risen.

I’ve started to bag it myself, although my wife’s old lunch carrier probably isn’t the best fit for me. Oh well. The benefits of packing a lunch are obvious and usually can be boiled down to two things: cost savings and health. No argument here. From a health perspective, it’s the portion control that packing gives the brown bagger that I find advantageous.

So far, there is one drawback – the social aspects. There is a certain golf-course bonding that occurs when a group of co-workers venture out for lunch. There is the shared decision making, the back-and-forth of lunch options, the agreement and of course the lunchtime chatter that is best left at lunchtime. The experience is good for the mind (and body), to take a walk and leave work for a while. Sure, such catharsis doesn’t need to be limited to the lunch buyers, but often I think it is.

My charge on my next brown-bag day is to seek a little social levity in between PB&J bites. And also to find a lunch carrying device that better fits my pleats and tassels.

Lease or Own

It’s all about ownership in our world. The statement, “you can own that” is frequently uttered to a client. We encourage them to own positions, spaces in the consumer’s mind, even a color.

Just recently I said to a colleague that breast cancer awareness owns the color pink. In my mind when I see pink, I think of breast cancer. I began to contemplate what it is that they own and if in fact they own the color pink. I’m sure Pink, the pop artist, would disagree. So I thought back – what did I think of when I saw pink before breast cancer awareness owned it in my mind? The answer is Rachel, my 12-year old niece. From the time Rachel was two she loved the color pink. Everything had to be pink. She talked about it and whenever I saw pink I thought of Rachel. Prior to my niece, I thought of the Pink Panther and Owens Corning. Rachel has moved onto other colors and frankly, I just don’t see much from Owens Corning. For a period of time when I saw pink I thought… nothing.

I realized that the breast cancer awareness folks don’t actually own pink, rather they are leasing it in my mind. They are leasing it by being incredibly relevant to me, by engaging me and by surprising me. Given recent history my guess is eventually someone or something else will lease that color in my mind, taking their place.

I don’t think the lease / own business is a matter of semantics. To occupy a place in a consumer’s mind takes incredible effort. To keep that place takes even more. Ownership implies entitlement as if it is a foregone conclusion that something will remain there. Leasing is about consistently earning it, making the payment to keep the privilege of staying in someone’s mind.

Seagulls

My wife and I just returned from Cape May, NJ. The weather was great and we enjoyed a wonderful time together. Something occurred to me. Why does every seagull sound the same? Perhaps to the birder (of which I cannot be counted), each seagull has a distinct and beautiful sound. But to me, they all sound the same. They don't all look the same. It stands to reason that one would have a very deep voice and one would have a loud voice, one would have an accent...you see where this is going.