Sneak peak...

...at next week's column:

Suddenly, selling yourself is cool.

Sitting in the audience during last week’s great “12 Bands of Christmas” concert at the Imperial, emcee Jason Barron came onstage and introduced himself. But not as “Jason Barron” or even as his apparently-former persona, Freakboy. But rather as “Suzuki Man,” the sort of amped-up, vaguely Japanese car shiller he’s playing on Augusta Suzuki commercials. Not once did I hear Barron refer to himself by his given name. He did talk about the great Suzuki he drives, though. So I guess that’s all it takes for a person to give himself up—a shiny new car.

But it doesn’t stop there. The tire company, Dunlop, offers a free set of tires for folks who get their logo tattooed on themselves. That’s right—permanently disfigure yourself with a corporate logo and you get free tires! One set per tat, though—one guy has five. It’s pretty brilliant marketing, actually. The program itself drew nation-wide publicity (the Augusta Chronicle reported it a couple of weeks ago), and, in exchange for a set of tires that may last a few years, the company gets walking billboards for life.

But what Dunlop has done pails in comparison with the “Ironman” brand. You’ve seen it on Timex watches—the blocky “M” with the dot above it signifying triathlon’s greatest race. It’s the symbol that the Ironman Corporation owns, representing the 2.4-mile swim/112-mile-bike/26.2-mile run triathlons they put on all over the world. And it’s become a ritual for finishers of the race to get the brand tattooed, immortalizing their accomplishment. Off hand, I’d say there are more then a few people walking around Augusta sporting the mark. And there are thousands-upon-thousands of the tattoos on calves, ankles and shoulders all over the world. Genius. They’ve created a walking army of super-fit, unpaid advertisers.

So what does this all mean? Slowly, as a society, we’re becoming walking testaments to consumerism. What started not-so-innocently enough as brand envy (remember that Izod alligator all the cool kids were wearing?) has morphed into something more sinister. No longer is merely wearing a logo good enough. Now it’s about permanence and totally giving yourself over to the Man. Jason Barron as “Suzuki Man.”

“Coco Rubio brought to you by Budweiser” may be next.

Now I know that broadcast journalism isn’t about writing stuff down, but if you’re going to interview a media critic, don’t misquote him on the web version of your story. That’s just what WJBF did last week, after Fraendy Clervaud spoke with me on-camera at the post office downtown, about the rush of packages the posties deal with the week before Christmas.. I was a good sport and played along (although, I really should have asked “is this news? Really? Are you sure?). But the transcribed quotes on the website didn’t match the words that came out of my mouth. Online, they made me sound like an Augusta commissioner—“..I got them (packages) tracked (yee-doggies!)…,” I reportedly said. But the video shows me saying “I’ve”. Sure, it’s a little thing, but if you’re going to attribute an ungrammatically-correct statement to someone, make damn sure they actually said it that way before making them look like an idiot on your website.

“Next, put your junk in that box.”

Nice work Breaking News editor!, pt. 2

Also a slow news day right here in Augusta, apparently. Turns out, the week before Christmas, lots of people ship stuff at the post office. Also, sometimes in winter, it's cold! WJBF was there to capture it all.

I'm pretty sure I didn't say "I got them tracked..." Need to look at the video to confirm it, though.

Note to journalists: don't misquote the damn media critic!

Update: just saw the video. I don't speak like an Augusta commissioner. It was "I've got them tracked."

Nice work, Breaking News editor!

This, from cnn.com today. No link when it was posted, just this headline:

Birds gets into Senate briefing room, eludes bird catcher

First of all, breaking news? Really? Slow day on the Hill, I guess. Later, there was no evidence of the "story" anywhere on the site. And secondly, nice grammar.

Messy

Guys, at all costs, avoid laughing while you pee.

Creepy

You know how when you walk by restrooms, especially in public places, and if the door happens to open as you're walking by, you can't help but glance that way? It comes off as creepy, cause, well, you're peering into a pretty private place. But it's human nature. And I'm not even talking about natural curiosity. It's just that, as animals, we're in tune with movement around us. So while walking down a hall, eyes ahead, we're drawn naturally to, say, a door opening next to us. It's not that we want to be creeps, but rather that if it's a tiger coming out of that door, we want to maintain a bit of self-preservation.

If you do it right, you instinctively turn your head and then, realizing people generally don't like to be gazed upon while exiting restrooms (I *know* what you were doing in there!), you look the hell away and continue your journey.

So, all that being said, here's what you don't do: you don't freaking speak to that person. I guess you could make the argument that if you're intimately familiar with them you could get away with it. Or maybe, if it's your kid coming out. But if the level of acquaintance is wife's coworker or less, you just keep on movin'.

Consider the stage set.

Monday, I was at the Spirit office, coming out of the restroom after cleaning up a bit after my downtown run. I drop Nola off at the office on those days, because it's deadline day for Amy, which means working late for her. And generally, dropping the girl off at mom's work is better than leaving your seven-year-old to fend for herself at home. Plus, she gets to run around like a crazy person (OK...she does that at home, but it's *so* much better to do it at mom's work). So, I think I'm pretty much alone in the back of the office, behind the big double-doors that separate that area from the action part of the building. And I also know that Nola A) like to play back there and B) love public restrooms more than do homeless people.

So when I walk down the hall from the men's room and the door from the women's room opens, I assume it's Nola. And since it's Nola, I know I can offer he a big, goofy "hello" without the fear of repercussions.

Door opens.

Turns head and says (inappropriately loudly) "heyyyyy....Stacey...."

And you know, no matter how innocent something is, if it comes off as creepy no amount of explanation ("...so you could see how I thought it was Nola...") really gets you off the hook.